


Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

by singularentity



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Professors, University, good omens - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 12:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20425919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singularentity/pseuds/singularentity
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale met. Then they split apart. Then they reunited as professors at Nutter University. They're friends. And now, Crowley has a crush on Aziraphale. But Aziraphale has been harbouring feelings for someone else for years. Oh, shit.





	Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

**Author's Note:**

> For my "ineffable bitches".
> 
> Note: Don't worry about the "abuse" tag. I'm using it as a trigger warning. Nothing majorly bad happens. We're all about mutual consent here. :)

“Can I sit here?” Crowley looked up in shock at the blond boy that had his arms overflowing with books. Crowley nodded and looked around the room.

“You do know there are so many other seats you could sit in,” said Crowley. The boy shrugged and dropped his stuff on the desk.

“You looked like you needed someone to sit with.” Crowley’s chest twinged, but he ignored it. Instead, he smiled.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “What’s your name?”

“Azira. Azira Fell.” His voice was clipped, precise. Southern pansy.

“Nice name,” Crowley said teasingly, “AJ Crowley.” They shook hands awkwardly. “Most people know me as Crowley.”

“People call me Aziraphale.”

“Can I call you Aziraphale?”

“Of course. Crowley, then?”

“Yep.” Crowley’s posture relaxed and he slid his back down the back of the chair. Aziraphale’s back was straight and he looked stiff and uncomfortable. Crowley rolled his eyes and glanced over at the shorter and stouter boy. He was fiddling nervously with his collar and anxiously sorting through the mess spread across their desks.

“You’re… you’re not going to take notes?” Aziraphale asked, noting the absence of stationary in Crowley’s possession. Crowley shook his head. “Well, let me know if you need a copy of my notes.”

Crowley looked across in shock. “We’ve just met, and you’re already offering to copy your notes for me?”

“Well, yes!”

“Oh,” Crowley said nothing after that. Aziraphale found himself glancing over way more times than necessary at Crowley, who was paying attention, sure, but not writing any notes. His long, wavy hair cascaded over his shoulder; a fiery, deep red waterfall. He was pretty, with a long nose and long eyelashes, and when he tucked his hair behind his ear, he noticed a black snake coiling down from his sideburn. A tattoo.

Aziraphale’s heart thumped in his chest. He knew at once that Crowley was a really, really cool person. Like, one of _ those _cool people. But he seemed tame compared to the others he’d met before in his life.

Crowley’s first impression of Aziraphale was that of a respectable and intelligent person. His second impression, upon talking to him a few times, was that he was a kind young man who knew what he was talking about.

Aziraphale dressed well, talked with an air of kindness and respect, smiled the perfect amount, and even though he was about twenty years old, he talked like an old man. On several occasions, Crowley had been called “my dear” by Aziraphale. Not that he didn’t like it, but Aziraphale was some kind of old man stuck in a twenty-year-old’s body.

Crowley found himself asking Aziraphale about nothing, requesting his notes and explanations, even though he didn’t need them. Aziraphale, every week, seemed to sit closer and closer to Crowley. 

Crowley didn’t speak much to him at all, now that he thought about it. 

Over time, they did not close any gaps and did not acquaint themselves with each other past sitting close to each other in a room full of other seats and knowing each other’s names. But there was a simple understanding that it didn’t need to be anything more than that.

Before they knew it, their time at Nutter University was over. Crowley said goodbye, and Aziraphale said goodbye. They acknowledged that they’d never see each other ever again. Crowley regretted that he never talked more to Aziraphale.

Crowley continued to study Biology and Botany, received a doctorate and became Dr Crowley. He was so happy but was terrible with men. Men frustrated him, he couldn’t even keep a partner for a year. He finally decided to focus on his plants, which he kept in peak condition, and his apartment was full of them. He managed to stay happy, wearing things that made him feel good about himself (basically whatever he wanted), eating well, getting his life together early before it was too late.

Crowley would call his only friend Anathema every day, and talk about nothing. Anathema seemed much more active in her life. She was the one who convinced Crowley to finally cut his hair, even though he loathed to part with it. 

Anathema was a child psychologist, and she was good at it. Everyone she met was charmed by her. And today, she was trying to charm Crowley into going out for drinks.

“Anathema, I’ve got work to do. I’m a Doctor of Plants now, you know.”

“And you have a job that’s got nothing to do with plants.”

Crowley scoffed. “I beg to differ. I’m a florist, remember?”

“Yeah, well. Sorting flowers and making bouquets for husbands who’ve got no idea how to treat their wives is a really good way to use your doctorate,” said Anathema sarcastically. She was probably on a break, but not really. She was probably eating over notes and references.

“And your psychology course only enhanced your talent for sarcasm.”

“Shut it.” Anathema’s voice was suddenly muffled, and her words slightly unintelligible. She was probably talking through a mouthful of food.

“Anyway, I have to go,” said Crowley after he heard his laptop bleep happily. “Emails and things, you know?”

“Sure. I have an appointment around now actually. The poor kid is throwing a tantrum outside, I guess I’ll find out why.”

“Good luck.” Crowley hung up the phone and stretched, spraying one of his bigger plants once more before sitting down at his laptop. He opened his email to find something from the Dean of Nutter University. Crowley groaned, thinking it was for donations (taking more money after you already paid the tuition fees), and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He came back, sipping it noisily, preparing to be frustrated. He eyed the text nervously, its clipped boldness filling him with anxiety.

** _Dear Dr Crowley,_ **

** _I have just learned that you have received a doctorate only in the last couple of months, and for that, I have to congratulate you_ ** (Crowley thought this was an odd opener, considering he was sure that Dean Shadwell was going to ask him for money) ** _. You have shown yourself to be an excellent graduate of Nutter University, and I would like to make you an offer._ **

** _Because you are an alumnus, have a doctorate, and have previously participated in an assistantship, I would like to ask you to teach the Botany course at Nutter University_ ** (at this, Crowley almost dropped his mug of tea. Surely not!) ** _. You will be joined by a fellow alumnus._ **

** _Please reply as soon as possible with your answer._ **

** _Sincerely, Dean Shadwell_ **

Crowley stared at his screen for a couple of minutes. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, closing and opening the lid of his laptop again just in case it was fake. He hadn’t been to that university for _ YEARS _. He chose to study away from London but came back to live there because he missed it.

Crowley hastily typed a reply, stating that he’d gladly do it. He suddenly remembered with a jolt all those days slogging away, participating reluctantly in assistantship because he knew he wanted to teach, but completely forgot about it when he moved away.

He tried desperately to recall who else had participated in an assistantship, to see if he knew who probably would be coming back along with him, but his mind was blank as if somebody had erased every single memory of university that he actually needed at this point.

He thought that he’d have to wake up at an ungodly hour every day again, but then he knew that he was now a professor, and professors can do whatever the Hell they want. Although, he wanted_ desperately _ to be a Good Professor, someone his students and the other teachers can like. 

Crowley sat back in his chair and rolled elegantly to the kitchen, mug in hand. He washed it, then rolled back to his computer. He quickly gave himself a pep talk, then stood up and paced around, seemingly muttering to his plants. He turned on his heel, glared at a plant, asked it what it was looking at, and promptly gave it a spiteful spray of water.

He did this a lot, especially when he was nervous. And he knew, deep in his heart, that the plants knew that he was frustrated and wanted nothing better than to comfort him. But this was a problem he needed to sort out himself. How to teach the curriculum effectively, how to capture the attention of students, how to write exams.

After a few hours of worrying, Crowley called Anathema and discussed it with her. She told him, with the air of a trained psychologist, that it was nothing to worry about at all. She breathed with him and told him to keep the breathing pattern until she arrived at his apartment. He gladly farewelled her and sat on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

Anathema barged in, saying something about how he’d better pay her, make her dinner, do something for being his therapist. Crowley promised to order junky pizza and fizzy drinks, and then they could watch Doctor Who along with the meal.

“You’d better,” Anathema said jokingly. Just her presence made him feel significantly better. She sat down next to him and took his hands, running her thumbs over his knuckles. “How are you, Crowley?”

“Bit better,” he replied, knowing this routine. She’d ask him–

“What was the matter when you called me?” And he’d explain. He was nervous and overthinking about the email from Dean Shadwell, which he showed to Anathema. She smiled and told him that this was a good opportunity, it was good to prepare, but Crowley was creating something out of nothing.

“I’m not doubting your anxiety at all, Crowley. I think that we could probably work through how you’re going to do this. But in all honesty, I think you’d be a great professor if you breathed, and you should just be yourself.”

“But, the curriculum–”

“Worry about the curriculum when you start. You’re a smart Doctor of Plants. You know everything and you’ve got everything stored away in your mind. All you have to do is be able to explain it. Isn’t that how we studied when we were doing our respective degrees together?”

“Yes,” muttered Crowley.

“Exactly. And so, do you see that we have nothing to worry about now?”

“Yeah,” said Crowley, lifting a corner of his mouth into a smile. “So, Doctor Who and junk food?” 

“Obviously. Night in with the girls!”

“Please don’t say that ever again. Hi, could I please have a large Supreme and a large Mediterranian Lamb?” Crowley was already on the phone with the pizza place.

“Don’t forget the bloody fizzy drinks!”

“And some blo– sorry, a large bottle of Coca-Cola. Neat, thanks.”

Anathema laughed. “Get the DVD, Crowley.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And Crowley?”

“Hmm?” Crowley mused, turning on the television.

“Don’t feel nervous. You’ll do great.”

\+ + +

Crowley awoke a week before his first term started, feeling painful tightness in his chest again. He thought about calling Anathema, but she wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed at this hour. He was overly conscious of his outfit. He wanted to make a good impression. 

Crowley sprayed his plants with his mister, said ‘goodbye’ to them, and twirled his keys around his finger as a way of keeping his nerves at bay as he walked down to the street and hopped into his black vintage Bentley. 

Crowley, and I promise that this is the only way I can describe it, rocked up to the university, parked, and strutted to the Dean’s office and plopped himself down outside. He felt like a teenager again, being consulted about what he did wrong and why he was getting detention for it.

“Dr Crowley, come in,” said Shadwell’s voice. Crowley jumped. It was still terrifying to hear him talk, even after all these years. Crowley stood rigidly, stiff and scared. “Oh, come on now, Doctor. There isn’t any need to be stiff with me anymore.”

“Then, in that case, sir, don’t call me Doctor. It’s… it’s Crowley.”

“Not Anthony? Tony? AJ?”

“Everyone calls me Crowley.” 

Shadwell shrugged. “Fair enough. Come on in, Dr Fell has arrived already.”

_ Dr Fell? _Crowley shivered at the familiarity of the name, but since ‘Fell’ isn’t exactly an uncommon last name, he dismissed it. A bit too soon, he’d realise.

“Dr Fell, this is Dr Crowley. You may–”

“Oh my God, you cut your hair!” Dr Fell leapt out of his chair and goggled at Crowley. Crowley’s eyes widened involuntarily as he recognised the stout man with the feathery blond hair. Shadwell’s face contorted as if he was trying to suppress a laugh.

“Aziraphale? You?”

“Me, yes, I suppose so,” said Aziraphale, fidgeting with his bow tie – which on anyone else it would have been degrading and embarrassing, but with an internalised jolt Crowley realised that it made Aziraphale look very much like an oversized teddy bear. “And… you are Dr Crowley now, it seems.”

“Yes, but… that’s a formality. Please, it’s Crowley, remember?”

Shadwell cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, here are your scope and sequences for this year’s semesters. Let me know if you need any help with the curriculum or… things like that.”

“Yep,” said Crowley, staring down at the piece of paper, not reading the print at all. He turned, and with an ‘after you’ to Aziraphale, he left the room, trying to figure out what to say.

“So… you cut your hair then? It’s a shame, I liked it long,” said Aziraphale, brushing Crowley’s shoulder gently with his fingertips and smiling.

“My friend convinced me it was an inconvenience,” Crowley touched his head, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity he felt when Aziraphale touched him. “I do miss it sometimes, though.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Come to my office, my dear. We can have a cup of tea and discuss everything we missed out on.”

“You’ve already seen your office?”

“Oh, well. I don’t mean to sound high and mighty, but I got the same offer you did, only a few days earlier. I had time to move in. I was only called in to meet you.”

“Ah. I see,” said Crowley, feeling a twinge of confusion and that feeling of being unprepared. He stepped into Aziraphale’s office, and it instantly felt like a cottage in the country, not a previously dingy office in a London university. It felt like home. 

Aziraphale sat Crowley down on a couch in the corner of the room and put on the kettle, putting tea bags in a teapot and balancing tea cups in both hands. He plonked down opposite Crowley with the prepared tea and biscuits that he had retrieved from a cupboard. Crowley gazed at the walls - if you could call them that. There were bookshelves on every wall of Aziraphale’s office, bursting to the limit with books. 

Aziraphale held out a cup of tea, which took Crowley a while to notice. He quickly took it, apologising for being rude.

“You’re fine, dear. I love my books, too.”

“Alright, but still. Anyway, what have you been up to?” asked Crowley, taking a sip of tea.

“Nothing, really. I’m not a very interesting person. I’ve been volunteering at libraries and working in my bookstore, nothing special.”

“Bookstore?”

“Yes, I live in my bookstore. It’s really quite cosy.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Before I got Shadwell’s email, I was… working in a flower shop. A fine way to use my doctorate, huh?” Aziraphale laughed and stared out the window.

“I must say, I missed you.”

“I didn’t think we were close enough to miss each other.”

Aziraphale snapped out of his daze, almost dropping his cup. “Ah, yes. My mistake.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped the spilt tea on his hand, deliberately not looking at Crowley.

“It’s alright, though,” said Crowley, giving Aziraphale a smile. “Let’s just assume we were friends and forgot each other. It’s okay, missing me.” Crowley cringed internally, feeling that the statement was a bit too forward for a reunion. 

“I’d say that’s a relief, but honestly, we probably would have been friends if we made the effort.” Crowley agreed with a nod.

“Anyway, I really have to go. I have furniture in my car I need to assemble.”

“I’ll help you.” Again, selflessly helping a person he doesn’t know that well. 

Crowley shrugged with a sigh. “Sure, whatever.”

Crowley opened the boot of the car and thrust a potted plant towards Aziraphale, who peeked in to see other similar plants and flat-packed furniture.

“Lord, that’s a lot of plants,” Aziraphale remarked.

“I’m a Botany professor,” Crowley reasoned. “It comes with the job.”

Crowley carried the flat-packed IKEA furniture into his office, with some direction from Shadwell. He gaped at the borderline ugly wallpapered walls. “How on earth did you turn your office into a cottage?”

“No idea.” Aziraphale’s plant waved lazily. He set it down and opened the first IKEA package. “We can do this before you have to go home tonight, okay?”

“You really don’t have to…” Crowley crouched next to Aziraphale, who had already taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, reading glasses perched on his nose. “Never mind. I’m going to get the other plants… and stuff.”

“Mm-hmm, sure,” said Aziraphale distractedly, already half-finished the frame of the bookcase. Crowley shook his head at him and left, coming back with his arms full of plants. He set them all by the door and dragged a long set of drawers that was going to be for the plants towards the window. Aziraphale was setting the bookcase against the wall, arranging the shelves.

“Is this where you want it?”

“Hmm? Oh, sure, yeah.” Crowley sighed at the instructions.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’m alright.” Aziraphale dragged the soon-to-be desk towards himself and unpacked it. He began assembling it quite expertly and was almost half done by the time Crowley had assembled the frame of his set of drawers. 

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Aziraphale asked, not looking up from his work.

“Assemble them so quickly.”

“No idea,” Aziraphale chirped happily, drilling the second drawer together. Crowley watched him in awe for a second, then returned to his own furniture. 

Aziraphale set the desk near the bookshelf on the right side of the way, away from the window. Crowley finally finished the low table and set his plants on top of them, where he gave them a few sprays with his spare plant mister and checked for leaf spots.

“Is that all you have?” asked Aziraphale.

“No, I’ve ordered one of those ancient-looking chairs with the really comfortable padding.” Aziraphale nodded. “It swivels, too,” added Crowley proudly. “That way I can turn around in my chair when a student comes in and I can go ‘I’ve been expecting you’.”

“Ah, well, mine’s just short of an armchair…”

“Comfortable, though.”

“Yes, comfortable.” They looked at each other for a moment, but Aziraphale cut his eyes away to stare at the empty bookshelf. “What are you filling those shelves with?”

“The books I couldn’t fit at home.”

“Okay. Do you need help—”

“No, you’ve helped me enough,” Crowley assured quickly.

“I see. Alright, I think we should have another cup of tea. I’m parched.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t, let’s go.”

In his office, Aziraphale warmed the tea again. He once again served it with biscuits. 

“What did you get up to during our time here?” Crowley asked.

“Ah, well. While everyone was losing their virginities,” at this, Crowley blushed, “I was doing nothing exciting, you know? Just reading and hoping that I wouldn’t die.”

“Ah, really?” Crowley took a loud slurp of tea. “I was… doing most of the crazy things. Drinking, I had a bit of weed once. Oddly enough, I never hooked up with anyone.”

“You seemed the type.”

“I’ll try not to get offended by that,” Crowley grumbled but felt none of the offence. “Then again, I’m not really a person who does ‘casual relationships’.” He created quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

“Hmm. Anyway, I heard that Newton Pulsifer got alcohol poisoning and he couldn’t leave his bed and missed our final exams our first year.”

“I heard about that, too! He came back and realised he’d missed the exam and had a mental breakdown right outside our classroom,” Crowley said sadly. “Poor sod.”

“Yes! I believe there have been so many similar situations, though I don’t quite remember—”

“I do. Alicia Spinwich smoked weed before her last exam and tripped out. She said it was for medical purposes.”

“Did she? Really?”

“Yes, I watched her do it.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Oh, my god…”

“She was fine, thank god, but you might’ve noticed her acting weird.”

“She got up to the bathroom a few too many times, that’s all I can remember.”

“Not the weed. She drank a lot of water to make up for all the drugs.”

“I’m intrigued now. You being wild certainly doesn’t dull any conversations.”

“Your conversations were never dull.”

“I’m sure they were, you’ve seen me.”

“I wouldn’t say so, to be honest. Anyway, I do remember Davis Mulligan confessing that he had an STD from the time when he lost his virginity.”

“Disgusting.”

“Yes, none of the girls would touch him after that.”

“I wouldn’t touch him either way. He may be fit, but he’s a greasy bastard.” Aziraphale shuddered, and Crowley laughed.

“Anyway, I have to dash,” Crowley said, checking his watch. He stood up, and Aziraphale looked disappointed for a fraction of a second.

“Alright, goodbye, dear.”

“Goodbye.”

\+ + +

Crowley finally awoke, feeling very excited about his first day, before realising that if he didn’t wake the heck up, he was going to be late for the introductory (but very relaxing) lecture he had planned for his new students. He threw on some clothes, gave a passing glance at his reflection, then ran to his Bentley and sped rather recklessly towards Nutter University. He stumbled into his office, threw his papers into one of the drawers, then picked through the papers on his desk to get his notes.

While Crowley was worrying about getting to class on time (which he shouldn’t be too concerned about at this point in his life), he nearly bowled over poor Aziraphale, who had been walking leisurely in the direction of Crowley’s office.

“Fuck!” Crowley cursed, stabilizing Aziraphale and patting his shoulder awkwardly. “Are you okay, Az?”

“I’m just fine, my… my dear boy,” Aziraphale smiled angelically, forgiving Crowley with a pat on his cheek. “No harm done.”

“Alright, well,” Crowley fretted, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet. “I feel as if I’m going to be late, so I’d best be off.”

Aziraphale blinked. “My dear Crowley, you don’t really believe that it matters that you’re late or not?”

“I do believe that it matters!” huffed Crowley, trying to relax. “I need to make a good impression!”

“You can make a good impression by not worrying and getting ready at your own pace. That way you don’t come off as a strict professor who only cares about school. In simple terms, you’d look like a prick.”

“I…” Crowley started, but took one glance down at the reassuring face of Aziraphale, and relaxed. “I guess you’re right.”

“See? Now organise yourself, you look like a total mess.”

“Could you please–”

“Of course I will,” said Aziraphale immediately, already jogging off to Crowley’s office. Crowley stared after him in awe, then shook his head and ran after Aziraphale, grinning a little to himself.

Aziraphale, being the angel that he was, was already sorting Crowley’s papers into different drawers and somehow had produced dividers for the bigger drawer at the bottom. Crowley didn’t know what to do, so he stood there with his lecture notes staring at Aziraphale. He felt an odd twinge in his chest and couldn’t tear his eyes away from Aziraphale’s happy face, and he could hear Aziraphale humming a Queen song as he worked. 

“See, all done! And you won’t be too late!” said Aziraphale, jolting Crowley out of his trance.

“Ah, yeah. Thank you, Aziraphale.”

“No problem.” Crowley’s knees wobbled a little as Aziraphale gave him a glowing smile, patted him gently on the shoulder, and brushed past him to leave to his class.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called, turning around to talk to him,

“Yes, Crowley?”

“Do you mind me coming to your office after we’ve finished all our classes?”

“I don’t mind. It would be lovely to have a chat,” Aziraphale shyly turned his gaze to the floor. “I’ll see you then, then.”

“Yeah.” Aziraphale disappeared from Crowley’s eyesight, and Crowley stood frozen, and then remembered he had someplace to be. He rushed off to the room he was supposed to lecture in, and paused before he entered.

Crowley shuffled his notes, took a breath, and opened the door. 

He was greeted by a wave of noise, young adult’s voices chattering about things. There were a surprising amount of students there, and Crowley’s heart lifted a little. He walked to the small raise, put his notes down on the desk, and turned to the students.

“Hi,” said Crowley once the noise had died down. “I’m Dr Crowley, I’m your Botany professor for the duration of your study here.” He gave a small smile, relaxing. He noticed a few students sitting stiffly, looking nervous. He took a breath. “Why don’t you put your stuff away, and we’ll begin by talking about why we took this class. It’s not an icebreaker,” he said hurriedly, sitting down in a chair, “just let me know what you are interested in and I’ll note it down for future reference. Questions?”

A hand shot up. Crowley vaguely gestured towards it. “Do we have to talk about why we chose Botany?”

“Nope.” Another few hands shot up. Crowley pointed in the direction of a dark-skinned boy who was extremely tall and skinny.

“What are we going to do this session?”

“We can either talk personal or we can have an introduction to the basics of Uni-level Botany, whatever you choose,” Crowley shrugged, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “Which would you prefer?”

The students looked at each other. A few people muttered ‘personal’ questioningly, and Crowley nodded. “Personal it is. Shoot your questions.”

“What’s your first name?”

“Anthony.”

“What can we call you?”

“AJ. Or Crowley. Doesn’t matter.”

“Do you have a partner?”

“Nope.” That was an interesting question, but he didn’t want to think about it. There was silence. “I’m not going to bite.”

“Uh… where are you from?”

“East End, but I studied in Manchester. Anyway, let’s talk plants for a bit – after all, I do need to teach you something.” That got a laugh. “I like plants, you should like plants, that’s cool. You know your basic secondary school plant anatomy, pollen, insects, shit like that. We’re going to talk more about some of the benefits of natural medicines and something about cells, and we’re probably going to talk about vaccines because that’s a relevant issue. Still. For some reason.”

“Sir?” Crowley turned. “What are we studying this semester?”

“Evolution, mostly. From aquatic plants to terrestrial plants. I’ll give it to you slowly so we can all understand it because I really, really did not like this topic, it’ll give you a headache if you don’t get it…” Crowley went on, taking questions and introducing Botany overall, explaining how his class worked and finally sitting down and letting the kids take notes from a powerpoint that had only one slide. He wasn’t bothered to write a summary onto the huge whiteboard.

Crowley dismissed the class, and a few boys went up to him, holding their fists out towards him. Crowley bumped his own fist against theirs and they beamed and said, ‘Thanks, prof.” and left, chattering excitedly. Crowley sighed with relief. Holy shit.

He had one more class, which he handled similarly, except these were students that were slightly further into their studies, so he sat them down, asked them to relax, and asked them what they’d done. He got a good amount of information and found the things the class had been struggling with, and noted these down. 

It was then late afternoon, and Crowley walked to Aziraphale’s office. He gently knocked on the door and entered the cosy haven. Aziraphale looked up from his papers and grinned and, to Crowley, the room suddenly seemed a lot brighter than usual.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale chirped, sliding a steaming cup of coffee across the desk. Crowley sat down opposite him and pointed at the cup, asking if it was his. “Yes, that’s yours. I have my cocoa.” He raised a white mug with a rather interesting handle and took a sip of the frothy brown beverage.

“Thank you,” Crowley smiled into the cup. “How did your first day go?”

“Fine, thank you. I hope I made a good impression.”

“I hope so, too,” Crowley replied, swallowing some coffee. He looked at Aziraphale and noticed a few light brown freckles splaying across his nose, and noticed especially his blue, excited eyes. “You… you have…” Crowley gulped nervously and looked around hurriedly for a subject to save himself. “You have a lovely collection of Dickens, huh?”_ Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

“Wh- yes, I suppose so.”

“I do like his books. A lot.” 

“He has a unique writing style. Although, as classical authors go, I prefer Austen or Brontë.” 

“I always found Brontë rather depressing. Austen, yes, but the Brontës didn’t like her portrayal of the Regency era. Too soft and romanticised, you know?”

“I enjoy the romanticising,” Aziraphale stated. “It’s a very idealistic look at her life, and there’s no harm in optimism.”

Crowley considered this. “I’m not a romantic, but romanticising the little things is one of the joys of life. You have books, I have plants.”

“See, you get it!” Aziraphale said excitedly. “I mean, romanticising a bookstore. It’s adorable and it gives you that warm feeling, you know? And I just know that you’re a wonderful carer of your plants.”

Crowley rubbed his face. “I guess.” He pretended to check his watch, feeling a little awkward. 

“Are you alright?”

“Mmhmm, yeah,” Crowley said distractedly. Aziraphale anxiously peered at Crowley, who was fidgeting in his seat. Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale’s sparkling eyes, and he almost imploded. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Glowing, sparkling like that, whatever!”

“I’m… I’m a regular hum… human being like, like you.” Aziraphale crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, avoiding Crowley’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. That was a bit aggressive.”

“I’ll say.” The glowing smile returned to Aziraphale’s face. Crowley checked the time again, drained his coffee and excused himself. Anathema was coming over to help him cook something complex for the first time, and they were going to have dinner together.

“I’m sorry…” 

“It’s alright. A date? Lucky girl.”

“Uh, no? Not a date. Besides…” Crowley trailed off, thinking. “Besides, women aren’t really… my area of expertise.”

“No?” Aziraphale looked taken aback, but he smiled anyway. “That’s...” his voice trailed away into nothing.

“What about you?”

“Hm. I’ve never had a partner. I’ve always had this unrequited love for someone,” said Aziraphale wistfully.

“She must be quite a someone.”

“You’ve made the same mistake as me,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. “It’s a ‘he’, not a ‘she’.” Crowley pushed his chair back in, feeling a flush creeping up his neck.

“I’m sorry. Maybe you shouldn’t pine, it’s not good for you.”

“Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t. But then again…” Aziraphale never finished his sentence. He instead started a new one. “I don’t think there’s a chance that he’d ever love me back.”

“Who wouldn’t love you?” Crowley said under his breath.

“Hmm? What did you say, dear?” Aziraphale looked up from his cup of hot cocoa.

“Nothing. Sorry, Aziraphale.” Crowley excused himself again and left, tripping over his feet as he walked back to his car. He drove back home and found Anathema in the kitchen, stuffing around with the ingredients in his kitchen. 

“About time!” She called, but her voice smiled. “Come on, we’ve got mini pies to make!”

“Uh… yeah, yeah, alright. Keep your petticoat on.” Crowley put his papers on his desk and sprayed his plants, gently taking their leaves and running his fingers to check for bumps or potential spots. “Can you help me with something?” Crowley asked after he entered the kitchen.

“Yeah, sure. What’s going on?” Anathema was only half concentrating on Crowley, but he helped her to lighten her load. He peered at the instructions before answering.

“So I met this guy…”

“Nice. Did you hook up?”

“No! He’s an old acquaintance from when I went to Nutter. And I’ve told you I don’t. Do. Hookups.” Crowley chopped his bunch of parsley a little too aggressively. The little green shrapnel flew across the counter and he gathered them back up.

“So what do you need help with, then?”

“I need some advice. I feel a little weird about this guy. Did I ever tell you about Aziraphale?”

“I think you’ve mentioned him…”

“Well, he’s the other professor that got employed along with me. And I really think that I’m starting to like him in… _ that _ way.”

“Ohh. That’s cute.”

“It’s not cute! All these… _ feelings _.” Crowley spat out the word like it was an unseasoned, live slug. Anathema laughed at him and stirred the meat while pouring a small amount of tomato sauce into the pan.

“Feelings are okay to have. Look at me, I deal with feelings all the time.”

“I know. But I really, really want to… I don’t know. Take him to the Ritz or something, hold his hand and take a drive with the more romantic Queen songs playing. It feels weird.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“Shut up,” muttered Crowley, shaping the pastry into its muffin tin. “Meat, please.” 

Anathema dumped a couple of spoonfuls into the pastry cup, and Crowley put a circle of puff pastry on top and sealed it with a fork. “If you start to pine, I’m going to riot.”

“I won’t. You know, pine.”

\+ + +

But _ oh boy _, was Crowley wrong. After a long day of teaching, he stumbled into Aziraphale’s office and leant against the doorframe. He took one look at Aziraphale and melted into a messy puddle. Aziraphale had reading glasses on, his jacket was hanging on the back of his armchair and he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Aziraphale was reading, but Crowley could only stare at the bow tie hanging loose under Aziraphale’s collar.

“Ah, Crowley!” Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley could barely stutter out any words. “It’s a rather hot afternoon, isn’t it?”

Crowley gathered himself and gave a crooked half-smile. “It really is, huh? You’re looking like you’re enjoying the weather, though.” Crowley realised that he shouldn’t ever express his feelings towards Aziraphale, knowing that he’s been waiting for someone special, probably so much more special than him.

“Have a seat.” Aziraphale gestured towards the chair opposite him. Crowley sat and picked up the mug of coffee, taking a sip before putting it down again. Crowley stared at his hands before a smaller, perfectly manicured hand covered his own stick-like, bony hand.

“I’m alright, Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed, taking another sip of coffee. Aziraphale let his hands fall back to his own mug. Crowley stared at Aziraphale before his eyes drifted down towards Aziraphale’s mouth. He snapped himself out of it, but Aziraphale had already noticed.

“Tell me, Crowley...” Aziraphale gave a knowing smile. Crowley gulped inaudibly. “...I’ve told you that I’ve never had a partner.” Crowley tried in vain to remember when he had said that, but couldn’t place his finger on it. He was sure it was… maybe yesterday? Maybe a few days ago?

“Yeah, you have,” Crowley decided. “What about it?”

“Well, what about you?”

“Me?”

“You know… partners.”

“I don’t really, you know, like to talk about that.” He didn’t really like to talk about it with specifically Aziraphale. It made him nervous.

Aziraphale seemed disappointed. “That’s fair. Uhuhm,” he cleared his throat, “understandable. Completely understandable.”

Crowley’s clouded judgement (in other words, blooming infatuation) made it hard for him to feel any kind of way about the way Aziraphale asked him those questions, dismissing it as curiosity and just small talk.

“Sorry. Anyway, did you ever watch those cartoons when we were growing up?” Crowley said, vaguely waving his hand in the air.

“I’ve seen many cartoons. Which one?”

“Uh… you know. The… sailor who liked… what was it? Rocket? Lettuce?” Crowley knew exactly what he was talking about; Popeye the Sailor who ate spinach as his steroid. He had absolutely enormous forearms. But Crowley was grasping desperately at slippery straws to try and sustain the friendship.

“I think it was spinach,” said Aziraphale, laughing a little. “Popeye, right?”

“Yes, Popeye! He was… interesting. It didn’t show much here, it was an American show, but enjoyable nonetheless, right?”

“I guess so…” Aziraphale shifted awkwardly in his seat. Crowley didn’t know how to take hold of the situation, so he did the next best thing and choked on his coffee. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and finally looked Aziraphale in the face.

“Aziraphale–”

“Crowley–”

“You go first,” insisted Crowley.

“Absolutely not, you go first.”

“Alright, well, you know I like flowers, plants, etc.?” Aziraphale nodded. “I was kind of curious about what your favourite flower is.”

“That’s a rather sudden question.”

“Please work with me here, you’re making me nervous,” said Crowley irritably. Aziraphale looked at him, his eyes unreadable. “Favourite flower?”

“The dahlia, I guess. Or the tulip, maybe pink or orange.”

“You’ve been to the Netherlands?” asked Crowley, remembering his trip to the Netherlands with a previous boyfriend, who had taken Crowley to a flower field that entirely consisted of lively orange tulips waving lazily in the wind. That guy was a douche, though. Didn’t bother to do anything nice for Crowley after that.

“I have,” said Aziraphale, relief painting his voice. “Some time ago, just after we got our degrees. It’s beautiful over there and there are orange tulips are everywhere. I’ve never seen so much orange in one place.”

“Huh.” Crowley mentally noted that down. Orange tulips, maybe dahlias. Aziraphale had talked more about the orange tulips, so maybe he’d get those for him one day. “Anyway, what did you want to tell me?”

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to dinner,” said Aziraphale bluntly. “We could do the Ritz.”

Crowley looked up with surprise. “The R… the Ritz?”

“I can pay,” Aziraphale seemed flustered. 

“No, nonononono… that’s fine, but I’m surprised you’re asking me and not Mystery Man,” Crowley said, wishing he hadn’t.

“Ah, well…” Aziraphale paused. “You mustn’t hold onto things for as many years as I have. Besides... friends should dine together once or twice. You’re so dense,” he laughed and shook his head.

“Fair enough,” Crowley shrugged, almost betraying his distaste for the word _ ‘friend’ _. “When are you free?”

“We could do Saturday evening. I know someone.”

“I was going to say, how are we going to get a table without booking a month previously?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I don’t have any means of getting there, though. Perhaps public trans–”

“I have a car.” Crowley suddenly felt extremely anxious over having Aziraphale in his Bentley. But there was no way he was travelling on public transport with Aziraphale on the way to the Ritz. Not even a taxi. He wasn’t sure why, but it was probably something to do with the fact that he wanted to dress up. Maybe in a dress.

Aziraphale clapped his hands together. “That’s perfect. Shall we meet up at… five-thirty? Or later?”

“I can do five-thirty, but I’ll be there at six at the latest,” said Crowley, thinking of how long the makeup would take. He really, really wanted to look Good.

“That’s fine,” said Aziraphale. Crowley finished off his coffee and stood up. He excused himself and said ‘goodbye’ to Aziraphale, then went home. Again, Anathema was there, already ransacking the kitchen.

“You might as well move in, Ana.” He grabbed the plant mister and once again gave the plants a thorough inspection.

“Where are the mini pies?”

“We ate them all last night, remember?” Crowley sighed.

“Oh, right. Can we order pizza?”

“You don’t even live here! We had pizza this month already!”

“No, we had it before this semester started, so that was about a month ago. I would very much like some pizza, Crowley.”

“We should make it ourselves instead of ordering it…”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“Fine, I’m feeling peckish for Chinese. We’ll get takeaway. But we’re splitting the bill. Half-half.”

“Done,” said Anathema, satisfied with the compromise.

“You’re like a raccoon,” Crowley pointed out and picked up his keys again. “You don’t live here, you demand food, you ransack my kitchen, and you eat trash.”

“Don’t forget the spring onion pancake!”

“Yeah, yeah. Leave me be.”

Crowley went to the nearest Chinese takeaway and came back, his arms filled with plastic bags. He received his 50% compensation, and they ate together once again.

“So, what about this Aziraphale fellow? Been pining much?”

“No,” said Crowley, uncertainly. “But we are doing the Ritz the day after tomorrow.”

“Ah, you know what that means!” 

“No, not really.”

“It means, lover-boy, that he wants to see you in your Sunday best.”

“We’re going on a Saturday.”

“Whatever. What are you going to wear?”

Crowley stared at his noodles. “A… a dress.” 

Anathema hesitated. Crowley hadn’t worn a dress for someone since he’d first gotten a boyfriend. And the dress almost came off, to Crowley’s dismay. He hadn’t wanted that. She remembered his smudged eyeliner and mascara running down his face as he appeared at Anathema’s door, fingertip-shaped bruises blooming on his body. 

“Are you sure you want to wear a dress?”

“It’s not going to be _ the _ dress,” Crowley’s hands began to shake, and Anathema steadied them with her warm ones. “I have a better one. A new one. One that makes me feel good.”

“Good, good,” she said quietly. “Must be some bloke, you bringing out your dresses for him.”

“I trust him.”

“That’s good. Eat your noodles.” Crowley obliged, feeling better about wearing a dress. It was one that reached just above his knees and it was an amazing scarlet colour. It was a few shades darker and richer than his hair. He was just frightened that the dress would come off prematurely. But he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t. He loved the other man. It filled Crowley with relief, even though he longed for Aziraphale.

After they’d finished, Crowley farewelled Anathema and collapsed into bed, wondering if he was going to turn up to class in the morning.

He did, but he felt really odd. He gladly talked to his students (‘Keira’s away because she got stoned last night’). He replied with laughs in the right places and ‘oh god, that reminds me of the time…’ and delivering similar anecdotes.

Crowley loved his students. He felt like a mama hen raising all his little chicks into the World of Plants. But he felt odd because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Aziraphale before they went to dinner. His students noticed him being distracted and tried to get to the bottom of it. He avoided all their questions with vague answers but eventually had to resort to teasing to get them to stop. So he didn’t see Aziraphale. Crowley went home instead of waiting for Aziraphale to finish his classes. 

On Friday evening, he went for a walk around London. Not for any particular reason, just to get some fresh air and pat some dogs. He stopped at Berkley Square, which was probably one of his favourite places. Traffic rolled around him and he sat down on a bench, looking at the little critters that ran around his feet. A large raven chased a smaller finch and eventually flew extremely close to a gaggle of girls who squawked fearfully and huddled closer. Crowley laughed at this. As the sun began to sink over the rooftops, he made his way back to his apartment, kicking stones and thinking about Aziraphale.

Aziraphale wasn’t exactly an uncommon subject of his thoughts anymore. Maybe he remembered the feather-haired boy, the one who managed to help him that extra bit to pass their course, but now he was everything Crowley thought about. Did he want a cup of coffee? Aziraphale would make him coffee every afternoon.

Crowley felt silly. 

He felt really silly for wanting to hold Aziraphale’s hand, maybe swinging it childishly between them as they walked through Berkley Square to admire the trees in the Spring.

He felt really silly for wanting to have one hand on Aziraphale’s waist and the other clasping Aziraphale’s soft hand, maybe swirling gently around the clutter of Aziraphale’s bookshop home to the sound of Freddie Mercury’s voice. Maybe relaxing to Mozart. 

He also felt really silly for not realising his feelings before. After so many weeks of talking about everything and nothing, he had only just realised that he’d very much like to be the person that Aziraphale fell for all those years ago.

\+ + +

Crowley pulled up to the bookstore, somehow instantly recognising the place despite never seeing it before. He adjusted the hem of the dress and checked his make up in the rear-view mirror. Crowley looked at the orange tulips on the seat next to him and wondered if he was really going to do this.

Aziraphale stepped out of the door and Crowley jumped out of the car, holding the tulips. Aziraphale took the tulips, seemingly speechless. He looked at Crowley with awe.

“Wow, you look… you look gorgeous,” Aziraphale breathed, hugging the tulips to his chest. “And… uh… thank you for the flowers…”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale in surprise, feeling like he was about to cry. He cleared his throat. “It’s… uh. Alright. Thank you, Az.” He pulled down the hemline consciously once again. The dress wasn’t even that short or tight, but Crowley still adjusted it at every spare moment. “Get in the car, we gotta go.”

“Ah, yes! Alright.” Aziraphale hurried into the car and they sped off to the Ritz. After waiting for what seemed like hours, they were sitting at one of the best tables in the place.

“Your person has got to be something special,” Crowley said, playing with his champagne glass.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Just a friend of mine I met a while ago.”

“What a friend.” Crowley held his glass out as a waiter filled it with champagne. He took a sip, trying to play it cool. Aziraphale stared at Crowley, but Crowley didn’t notice the spark of admiration in Aziraphale’s eyes.

After a while, they had eaten and Aziraphale was eating his dessert. Crowley leaned on his elbows and talked at Aziraphale, chattering about nothing. Aziraphale nodded and listened intently, munching on his cheesecake.

“Can you hurry?” asked Crowley, fidgeting a little. “It’s so stuffy and boring here.” 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “I would’ve thought that a sophisticated lady like yourself would’ve loved this type of dinner.”

Crowley choked. “What?”

“I’m sure you heard me!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his fork clattering to the tablecloth. “You’re so dense sometimes, you know?”

“I… Aziraphale…”

“Let’s go, then,” Aziraphale said frustratedly. Crowley was dragged to the car by Aziraphale and told to drive back to Aziraphale’s place. “I’m going to need another– stronger– drink,” Aziraphale groaned, relaxing in his seat.

“Are you okay?” Crowley was shocked at the sudden change in the character of Aziraphale. He wasn’t being sweet and quiet anymore.

Aziraphale breathed deeply. “Yes, Crowley. I’m fine. It’s just… I don’t know. I just felt really irritable. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Crowley gripped the wheel. “That was a bit frightening.”

“What was?”

“You getting all dark and furious.”

“Didn’t I say I was sorry?”

“Yeah, you did. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You can park here,” Aziraphale pointed out of the window. “Would you like to come in? We didn’t have too much conversation at dinner.”

“I’d love to,” Crowley said immediately. Aziraphale opened the door while Crowley locked the car. He entered and saw Aziraphale’s world fading into view with a gentle warm light. Crowley was told to take a seat and he sat down, again adjusting his dress. 

Aziraphale approached with some Scotch and two whiskey glasses. “How are you feeling?” he asked, handing Crowley a glass and pouring whiskey into it.

“Fine now, thanks.”

“Good.”

Crowley took a drink, feeling instantly warmer. He wanted to become intoxicated, let loose. But he also wanted to keep himself together so he could talk to Aziraphale without saying something impossibly stupid.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“What music would you like to listen to?”

“Do you have any Queen?”

“I do,” replied Aziraphale, walking to a shelf and pulling out a vinyl record in its sleeve. “I have a Best of Queen record.”

“Well, it’s the best of Queen,” said Crowley, matter-of-factly.

“Alright then,” Aziraphale laughed. He started the record with a little crackle from its speakers and returned to drink more whiskey.

“Can… anybody…” Crowley sang along. 

_ ♪ Find me… somebody to love? ♪ _

Aziraphale stood from the armchair opposite and put down his glass. He held out a hand towards Crowley and pulled him up off the couch. 

“Dance with me, Crowley,” whispered Aziraphale. Crowley nodded and put his hands respectfully on Aziraphale’s waist, while Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, extremely close to his neck.

Electricity shot through Crowley’s body at Aziraphale’s touch.

“Have you ever danced like this with someone?” Crowley felt Aziraphale draw closer. 

“I haven’t.”

“Why not?” 

“I’ve never really been able to dance.”

“You’re not stepping on my feet, though. You’re doing wonderfully.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You’ve had a bit too much to drink, I think.”

“Maybe I have. Does it matter? It’s a Saturday.”

Aziraphale laughed quietly. “I guess you’re right.”

There was a silence, filled only by Freddie Mercury.

“Did I tell you that you look gorgeous in that?” Aziraphale whispered up at Crowley.

“Tell me again, hmm?” Crowley replied.

“You’re stunning.” 

Crowley laughed shyly, spinning Aziraphale around. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale pushed himself into Crowley, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in Crowley’s chest. “Have you ever kissed someone?”

“Yes, I have. You?”

“No.”

“Why? Wait, don’t tell me. Mystery Man?”

“Yes, well...”

“You’re keeping secrets from me,” said Crowley jokingly, looking away from Aziraphale. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s eyes boring into him. Crowley took a glance at Aziraphale’s determined face, impossibly close to his.

Crowley felt conflicted, whether he should turn away, get out of the dance, or… or… Aziraphale’s hands slid up Crowley’s neck.

_ Or… or… _

_ ♪ Ooh, let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster)...♪ _

Crowley leaned down and found himself kissing Aziraphale, hardly noticing their foreheads practically clashing together. His nose was in totally the wrong place, but his hands were comfortably holding Aziraphale’s face.

_ ♪Tell me how do you feel right after all? I’d like for you and I to go romancin’...♪ _

Crowley could taste the whiskey lingering on Aziraphale’s lips. It was sweeter, more lively on him than from the glass. At this thought, Crowley pulled back, stepping away from Aziraphale. A realisation dawned over him – he felt it wash over him like a bucket of cold water that was dumped over his head.

“Aziraphale, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Crowley, wait,” Aziraphale pleaded. “No, listen…”

“No, I fucked up, Az. I’m going to go. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Crowley!”

“I’ve stolen it from you. It’s unforgivable. You should have had it with him.”

“Crowley, it was… it was you!” But Crowley had already walked out the door, not hearing Aziraphale. “It’s always been you…”

\+ + +

“Doc, are you alright?” asked Jane after noticing Crowley’s depressive demeanour. 

“I’m fine, Jane,” Crowley smiled sadly. “I just made a stupid… an awkward mistake.”

“Oh, alright,” Jane looked around at her peers, silently communicating something. They nodded in response and instantly tore out pages from their notebooks and started writing something. They drifted together and huddled, talking and shushing each other when the talking got too loud.

“Okay, that’s all we’ve got time for,” said Crowley, checking his watch. “Remember to do your revision and write that essay about your favourite species of plants, okay? Your exam is on Thursday, and that essay is optional but please, I’m begging you, finish them and bring them in next week.”

“Yes, doc,” the students chorused, packing their things away and making their way out of the lecture hall. They all subtly dragged their hands on his desk, dropping bits of paper. After they all left, Crowley looked at them curiously and went through the messages.

_ Doc, whatever you did, it probably wasn’t as bad as you thought it was. _

_ Love, Keira. _

_ Doc, you’re fabulous and should be proud of yourself for taking a risk. Maybe it’ll all work out in your favour. _

_ – Seàn. _

_ Doc, if I’ve got the guts to go skydiving, then you have the guts to take care of yourself. I know it’s hard but self-care is extremely important. Have some ice-cream. Have a night in. _

_ – Oscar. _

_ Doc, I believe in you. – Jane. _

Crowley went through them all and his mouth dropped open. They really cared about him, didn’t they? He gathered them up and stuck them in his display folder, intending to keep them in one of his desk drawers to make sure that they were safe.

Crowley went to his office, making himself a cup of tea while looking through all the notes again. He dropped them in an unused drawer and packed all his papers away, then left for the day. 

When Crowley arrived home, Anathema was there for the first time in weeks.

“Why, hello there!” Anathema chirped, handing Crowley a box. 

“What’s in the box?”

“Are you serious?”

“Am I serious about what? Why are you giving me a box?”

“Did you seriously forget your own birthday?”

“Is it really my birthday?”

“What!”

“Oh. Well, must’ve forgotten about it,” Crowley shrugged and opened up the box. “Oh.” Inside was a cake that must have been made by Anathema herself. There was icing spelling ‘Happy Birthday, Crowley!’ on the top of the chocolate cake. It was messy and shaky, but Anathema had obviously spent a lot of time on it.

“Do-you-like-it-do-you-like-it?”

“I do like it,” replied Crowley, smiling at the cake, then at Anathema. “Thank you so much, Anathema.”

“Okay, well it’s just us two, then! I would’ve thought you’d invite this Aziraphale you’ve been going on about!” Crowley flinched and tensed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve made a stupid mistake.”

“What did you do this time?”

“I… well… what I mean to say is.. I kissed him.”

Anathema gaped. “Wow.”

“I didn’t think I’d do it, you know? But he was looking at me expectantly and he was so adorable that I just… I just had to! I was probably drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“And… then you just left?”

“I did.”

“You idiot!” Anathema took the cake from Crowley’s hands and set it down on the counter. She then gave Crowley a soft whack across the head. “He didn’t stop you, did he? He kissed you back, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but it’s not me he was looking for! He’s looking for this other bloke that he met a while ago, and he’s still in love with him!”

“Anthony Jacob Crowley, you absolute dunce!”

“Anathema Jasmine Device, what is wrong with you? He’s got his heart set on someone else, _ why won’t you listen to me? _”

EAT SOME CAKE, said Anathema in a dangerously demonic voice.

“Wh… wait, what?”

CAKE.

“Okay, calm down, Ana. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I just don’t get you sometimes. It’s… never mind.” Crowley found a knife and cut himself and Anathema a piece. 

“I don’t get me either. That makes two of us, then?”

“Yeah.” Anathema shoved the cake in her mouth. “I think this cake is pretty good.”

“You made it, of course it’s good.”

“But you haven’t eaten any yet.” Crowley rolled his eyes and took a bite of the cake.

“It is good,” he stated. Anathema’s face lit up. Crowley smiled back at her, liking the fact that she was proud of herself.

“You don’t have any plans tonight, right? I can only assume because you forgot your own birthday.” Crowley shook his head, his mouth full of cake. “Okay, well I planned something in advance just in case you did. This isn’t the first time you’ve forgotten.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, last year you forgot, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley shrugged. “What have you got planned?”

“Okay, we’re going to the Garden.”

“_ The _ Garden?”

“Kyoto Garden.”

“YES!” Crowley jumped out of his seat, dancing around with his plate. Anathema laughed at him, watching him wiggle around the room. 

“Okay, let’s put the cake in the fridge and we can go.”

Anathema and Crowley walked around the Kyoto Garden, and Anathema couldn’t help but smile as Crowley enthused and happily touched each flower, each leaf, remarking how perfect they were.

“I forgot how into plants you were, Crowley.”

“Shut up, let me look at them.”

“Of course, I forgot. You’re obsessed.”

Crowley shot Anathema a look. “Birthday boy, remember?”

“You forgot your own birthday, though,” Anathema pointed out, touching a leaf on a tree. “I’m trying to make you laugh, forget yourself or something.”

“I’d rather overdose on marijuana.”

“Than forget yourself? Isn’t that the point of drinking and drugs? Now that I think about it, how about we bring out that Scotch you’ve been keeping for years?”

Crowley tensed. “Absolutely not. That Scotch stays in the bloody cupboard.”

“Why? It’s over five years old!”

“It stays.”

“Well then, some chardonnay. Vodka maybe?”

“Why are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Because you’re getting yourself worked up over a man.”

“Have you ever had a man care so much about another person that he won’t tell you who it is?” Crowley said, bitterly. He stood up from crouching next to the flower bed so he wouldn’t crush the damn flowers in his fist.

“No, because by the sound of it, he doesn’t care for someone else.”

“Not this again.”

“Why would he have let you kiss him?”

“Stop it. I’m going home.” Crowley began to walk away from Anathema.

“I have a key!” 

“Use it however you want. I’m not talking about this shit anymore.”

“Crowley…”

“Anathema, I’ve got exams to proof-read.”

“Crowley!”

“Don’t call my name like that,” Crowley snapped. “I’m going home.”

Anathema flailed helplessly to find the words to Crowley to stay. So she let him go. He hailed a taxi cab and went back to his apartment, coming back to his plants and indifferently talking to them, as if nothing ever happened.

Crowley made himself a coffee, considering spiking it with something. The only thing he spiked his coffee with was a bit of sugar. He exhaled deeply, slumping on his couch. He stared mindlessly at the wall, then finally decided to sleep.

After two pretty uneventful days, Crowley returned to his office with his hands filled with more notes on paper torn out of cheap notebooks. He also had the exams that hadn’t been marked yet, so he was going to do those before going home.

“Damnit, Oscar. I thought I taught you this,” Crowley muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Jane, you too? Come on. Stupid mistake, but an easy mistake to make. I’ll let you off. Argh! That’s a myth! Stop thinking these things about cactuses, please, I told you…”

Crowley found his eyes drooping at a question about plant cells. His eyes were blurring and he probably wasn’t going to be awake in the next few minutes. And he wasn’t. He fell asleep on top of Keira’s exam. 

Crowley was somewhat asleep, vaguely conscious. Aziraphale knocked on the doorframe before noticing that the other man was sprawled across exams, in danger of drooling on them. Aziraphale let out a soft, exhaling laugh, and sat on the desk next to Crowley’s hair. He touched Crowley’s hair, remembering when it was longer and the times when he wished he could just run his hands through it.

Crowley stirred slightly at Aziraphale’s touch, but thought it was just his imagination, and carried on dozing until he heard Aziraphale speaking softly at him.

“...you know what? I was trying to tell you, it was you. It’s always been you.”

Aziraphale let out a yelp. Crowley had bolted upright and was now staring at Aziraphale. “Az... Azira… phale… J-Jesus, lord. What are you doing here? And, and what the hell are you... are you talking about? ‘It’s always been you’, what kind of… what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Aziraphale goggled at him but began to laugh. “I’m sure you know, my dear.”

“No, I’m sure… well… maybe I do, but no, I’m not assuming anything.” Crowley crossed his arms defensively, avoiding eye-contact. “What are you doing here, Aziraph– mfh!”

Aziraphale had grabbed Crowley’s jacket by the lapels and was now kissing him. Crowley could only stare, wide-eyed, as Aziraphale moved back and kept laughing. “You’re so dense, you know that? What a dunce.”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth, trying to find something to say. He shook his head and grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist, compensating for being tongue-tied by kissing Aziraphale again. Aziraphale raised his hands to Crowley’s face and kissed him back, albeit rather shyly.

“I’m glad it was me all along,” Crowley smiled. Aziraphale’s face flushed and he touched his forehead to Crowley’s.

“I didn’t think you would ever love me back until the night after the Ritz.”

“I thought you’d caught me staring at you, even before then.”

“Oh, I did, but I thought that it was just your way of trying to figure me out.”

“You’re so sweet and unassuming.”

“I… I honestly don’t know how to take that.” Crowley shrugged and didn’t say anything. “Does this mean that all my ‘my dear’s and things were actually making you feel rather confused?”

Crowley laughed. “I guess so. Does this mean I can finally call you ‘angel’? Or ‘darling’? Pet names, you see.”

“I have pet names for you, so it’d only be fair.”

“Angel, then.”

“Yes, angel.” Aziraphale pecked Crowley on the mouth before hopping off the desk. “It’s rather late, I think we should go home.”

“Oh. Yes.” Crowley looked out the window to see the golden glow of the setting sun. “So… uh… how are we going to do this?”

“Court each other, I’d only assume. You can move in with me if you’d like, after all…”

“Honestly, I’d like nothing better. My friend has a key to my place and keeps breaking in.”

Aziraphale shook his head, smiling. “What a friend.”

“Are you sure, though?”

“I’d like nothing better,” replied Aziraphale. Crowley covered his face, hiding a smile. “See you tomorrow. We can discuss this later, then?”

“Absolutely,” Crowley nodded. “Bye.”

“Goodbye, my dear.”

\+ + +

Crowley skipped into his lecture hall the next morning, looking like he was surrounded with a warm glow. The students snickered.

“What’s up, doc? You meet a girl?”

“No, not quite, Frankie,” Crowley shook his head at him while smiling. “Okay, I’ve marked all your exams, so can you please form an orderly line or… do that,” he rolled his eyes as the students rushed to the front, some of which jumped over their tables to reach the desk quicker. 

Crowley called the student’s names out and they all reached forward to snatch their papers out of his hands. They obviously didn’t mean to be rude about it, but they were too excited to care. Crowley was proud of himself, for he believed that the kids had learnt well and they got pretty high marks.

“Okay, do we have any questions?” The kids shook their heads, but one put his hand up in the air. “Yes, Oscar?”

“Doc, what did I do wrong on question 16B?”

“Ah, well. You misread it.”

“Oh. Thanks, doc.”

“No problem. Anyway, how is everyone else? Satisfied with your marks?” A collective murmur of ‘yes's circulated around the room. “Good. You can leave, I didn’t bloody plan anything for this lesson except giving back those horrid stacks of paper.” The students laughed and promptly left.

“Finally, I thought they’d never go,” Crowley’s eyes widened as he heard that familiar voice.

“It was only ten minutes, angel.”

“Ten minutes is long enough. Come on, let’s go to your office.”

Crowley snorted. “Of course, you’re hurrying me. We only decided to do this last night.”

“Oh, shut it. I’ve waited years for this.”

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, well, I thought that maybe you’d rather live with me, I don’t know why.”

“I do, I don’t exactly like my apartment.”

“Good. Will it be easy for you to move out?”

“Relatively, but you’ll have to help me,” said Crowley, putting the kettle on. He hadn’t realised that they’d already arrived at his office but had instinctively put the kettle on for tea. Aziraphale closed the door behind him.

“I would help you bring about Armageddon.”

“I don’t want that, but thank you.” 

Aziraphale laughed. He leaned in and kissed Crowley, pushing him against his desk. Crowley laid his hands on Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him closer. Aziraphale slid his hands onto Crowley’s hips and squeezed them. Crowley became overly aware that he was really thin and bony.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and kissed him deeper. There was something about kissing Aziraphale that sent Crowley’s thoughts reeling. It made it hard to think and breathe.

A knock on the door startled them away from each other. Aziraphale threw himself into a chair opposite Crowley’s desk as the door opened and a student walked in. Crowley straightened his jacket, looking at the confused kid walking in with an open laptop.

The kid looked at Crowley then cut his eyes to Aziraphale, who was sorting through random papers he’d found on Crowley’s desk. The boy grinned. Crowley gave a tight-lipped smile.

“Oscar, what’s up?”

“What were you doin’?”

“I was… trying to… what was it?”

“I didn’t know what species of plants I needed to name. I needed specifics.” Crowley looked at him gratefully.

“Sure, prof,” Oscar shrugged. “Hope you got what yer lookin’ fer. Doc, I think I fucked up the age of these two trees.”

“Show me,” Crowley held out his hand and took a look at the pictures. He tried to concentrate on it but Aziraphale was distracting him just by being there. “Ah, I see. Okay, so remember how we talked about rings and things? You need to be careful and do some more research. I’ll tell you that this one… I think it’s about fifty years old.”

“Er, yeah. Thanks, doc.”

“See you.” 

Oscar left. Aziraphale sat on Crowley’s desk, looking expectantly at him with his eyebrows raised.

“What, angel?”

“You know. Moving in with me.”

“I think it’s really sudden, but I absolutely will.”

“Good. I’ll help you move out maybe…”

“Either this or next weekend.”

“You’re prepared to move that quickly?”

“I don’t have much except the essentials.”

“I see. What about terminating your lease?”

“Child’s play. I can do it very quickly.”

“Are you sure? There’s a lot of paperwork…”

“Aziraphale, darling, you’re good at building IKEA furniture, I’m good at paperwork.”

“Oh, alright, then.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s wrist and gave him a goodbye kiss. “Bye, love.”

“Bye,” Crowley closed his eyes and smiled, satisfied. When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale had already left. He gathered his notes for his afternoon class and made his way back to the hall.

The older students were already there, chatting. A few of them caught sight of Crowley smiling like an idiot, and grinned back at him.

“Hey, Crows. You’re glowing, ain’t ya?”

“Hi, Jacob. I don’t think I am.”

“Nah, that’s totally not what Gina looks like after a good snog. What’d you do?”

Crowley dropped his papers on purpose to hide the blush creeping over his face. “Nothing.” He laughed nervously, putting the papers on the desk. He gave a little shrug and sat back in his chair. He waited until the rest of the students came before starting.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had already started teaching and was reading from Shakespeare’s sonnets. The students noticed the emotions there that hadn’t been in his voice before.

“Prof, didja meet a girl?”

“What, Harry?”

“Did you meet a girl? You seem… different.” The class laughed, knowing exactly what Harry was insinuating.

“No, what are you going on about?” Aziraphale kept going, the students still laughing behind their hands. After class, they ambushed him.

“Prof, I think you’ve found someone.”

“I haven’t!” Aziraphale began to blush, and he crossed his arms.

“Really? The blush on your face is really convincing me.”

Aziraphale laughed. He scratched the back of his head. “Away with you, foul fiends! Now, shoo. I’ve got your essays to mark.”

The students sighed in disappointment then left. Aziraphale sighed with relief. He wouldn’t know how the kids would take it if they knew.

\+ + +

Crowley admired the ring on his finger, sticking his hand up in the air. He pushed his hand towards his husband’s face, who cringed away from it.

“Don’t stick your hand in my face like that, love. You’ll poke my eyes out.”

“Yes, but look!”

“I know, we got married.”

Crowley groaned. “You’re no fun. I was just trying to tell you it’s beautiful. You did a fantastic job,” Crowley turned the ring on his finger, admiring the inscription in Latin. “Can we get some alcohol out?”

“No, we have work tomorrow, my dear.” Crowley moved his hand away from Aziraphale’s face to look at it. He smiled.

“Fine,” he sat up, scooching his butt to sit next to Aziraphale instead of lying on his chest. Crowley gave him a small kiss, touching their foreheads together. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” said Aziraphale. “But you don’t think they’ll notice?”

“Not at all.”

“You seem overly confident. They match, you know.”

“Don’t all wedding rings?” Crowley shrugged. “Anyway, they didn’t notice the engagement rings, and they were fucking massive,” he threw his hands around in a wide arc, “diamonds, remember?”

“I do recall. You’re the one who proposed with them.”

“I did?”

“Dunce.” Aziraphale put Crowley’s hand on his face, then kissed the ring. “These are much smaller, you’re right, I’m sure they won’t notice.”

“Exactly,” Crowley put his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, and tugged him down to lie with him. “I’m sleeeeepyyyyy…”

“I know you are, you serpent,” Aziraphale settled into the bed, turning a page of his book. “Go to sleep, then.”

“No… the light is on… Az…”

“I’m reading, love.” Crowley pulled the book down, giving him a tired pout.

“Please?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and put the book down, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead.

“Fine,” said Aziraphale, touching Crowley’s hair and switching off the light. 

When the new day dawned, Aziraphale tried to shake Crowley awake but failed. Crowley groaned and turned over. He was waking up but it was too slow. Aziraphale stood by the bed and tapped his foot on the floor, calling Crowley’s name.

“Crowley, dear.”

“Grrrrrrrr.”

“Anthony.”

“Ughhhhhhh,” said Crowley, flopping his arms across the bed. Aziraphale laughed, and leaned in and kissed Crowley gently on the lips.

“Come on. Up you get, sleeping beauty.”

“No, get back here.” Crowley pulled Aziraphale back and kissed him again. Aziraphale stuck his tongue out.

“Yuck, morning breath.”

“Shut it.” Crowley sat up in the bed and rubbed his face. Aziraphale put clothes on Crowley’s lap and urged him to put his clothes on. Crowley was lifted off the bed by Aziraphale and was dressed within minutes. “You didn’t need to do that, angel.”

“You were being too slow.” Aziraphale was already perfectly groomed and dressed. And he was already making his way into the kitchen with a pot of porridge.

“Does it have cinnamon in it?”

“I know you like cinnamon, so yes.”

“Yay, thank God for Aziraphale!” Crowley rubbed his eyes. “I love you.”

“You’re such a dunce,” said Aziraphale, shaking his head. “I love you, too.” Crowley beamed and ate his breakfast with such gusto that he managed to give himself hiccups. While driving them to the university, he hopped in his seat with every _ hic _. This made Aziraphale laugh so hard he began to cry.

When Crowley arrived to class, he began to teach. When he was talking about evolution, the students noticed the ring glittering on his finger. They nudged each other and pointed, whispering.

“No, you ask!”

“Jane, I swear to Gawd.”

“If Oscar won’t do it, we’ll get Seàn or Keira to do it.”

“Nuh-uh!” Keira protested.

“Seàn?”

“Hmm?”

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

“No’ a’ all.”

“Ask doc who he married!”

“Why?”

“Because, look!” They all peeked at Crowley, who was talking more animatedly than usual. “Look how happy he is. Look at that ring.”

“You’re all idiots,” said Seàn, shaking his head.

“What? Why?”

“Ya bell-ends obviously didn’ notice ‘is massive engagement ring las’ semester.”

“He had one?”

Seàn rolled his eyes. “Ya think I didn’ ask?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, alright. I didn’.” Seàn looked at Crowley. “I suppose it’s worth askin’.”

“Do it.”

“After class, don’ hurry me!”

Seàn did ask. Crowley blinked at him a couple of times and shrugged. 

“It’s nobody.”

“Doc, if it’s nobody, why are you so happy?”

“I can’t be happy for my own reasons? Away with you, Seàn!” Crowley laughed and Seàn trudged reluctantly back to the group.

“He wouldn’ tell.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Fuck you, Watson.” The students that were looking on sniggered. Crowley looked at them laughing at each other and shook his head. He rushed to Aziraphale’s office and dumped himself in Aziraphale’s lap.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” asked Aziraphale, running his fingers along the bones in Crowley’s hips.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a smacking kiss. “My kids are onto us,” he said.

“Ah, yes. Mine noticed too.”

“Do you want to play a little game with them?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, my kids are really invested in my love life and will stop at nothing to find out who I’m with.”

“Yes…?”

“Trick ‘em. Let’s get Anathema and Tracy in on it.”

“Sounds fun,” said Aziraphale, thoughtfully.

“When we get home I’ll phone them,” suggested Crowley, kissing up Aziraphale’s neck. “I’m boooooored.”

“Anthony, dear,” Aziraphale sighed. “We’ll get home and we can cuddle up and have a bit of wine, cheese and bread. How’s that?”

“Can we watch Monty Python?”

“Which one?”

“Uh… _ Life of Brian _.”

“Of course.”

“Good, good.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the lips, again.

“Calm down there, love. We need to be inconspicuous.”

“True. Let’s go home.” 

Crowley drove them both home, avoiding being seen by their students. They giggled like schoolgirls all the way back to their bookstore home, then hatched their grand plan. Crowley called Anathema and Aziraphale called Tracy. 

They both explained that they wanted to mess with their students and they wanted the women to help. Anathema and Tracy both agreed and congratulated them for the fiftieth time, even though both of them were at the wedding.

Aziraphale laid out the wine, cheese and bread while Crowley turned on the television and got _ Life of Brian _ready to watch. He was in pyjamas. Aziraphale took that as a sign that Crowley would be asleep not that long into the movie.

“This is such a sneaky plot.”

“But it’ll be fun messing with the kids,” Crowley laughed, laying his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “Just some harmless fun.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale chewed the cheese-on-bread, then sipped his wine. Crowley was already asleep with a smile on his face. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at his husband. He kissed Crowley gently on the forehead, then carried him into the bedroom. It wasn’t as hard as it appeared to be. Even though Crowley was taller, he was much lighter. It made it easy to do the bridal carry after the wedding ceremony.

Aziraphale tucked Crowley into bed and sat beside him, stroking his hair away from his sleeping face. Aziraphale’s thoughts went like this:

_ I can’t believe that I met him. _

_ I can’t believe that he wanted me back. _

_ I can’t believe that he asked me to spend his life with me. _

_ I can’t believe that he’s mine. _

Which was cheesy, sure. But Aziraphale felt so much love between them that it was hard for his heart not to hurt whenever Crowley kissed him, touched him, looked at him, smiled at him.

That’s normal, right? To love someone so much that it hurts? 

And to have the satisfaction of them loving you back?

Even better.

\+ + +

Crowley handed Anathema the flowers. She giggled.

“You are so bad.”

Crowley snorted. “Shut up.” He felt eyes boring into his back and chose to ignore them. He knew it was the kids, watching, waiting.

Anathema looked at Crowley. “Oh, right.” Crowley opened the door to the Bentley for Anathema, who plonked herself in the front passenger’s seat. When Crowley got in, slammed the door shut and drove off, Anathema laughed louder.

“You’re really bad at acting, you know that?”

“I’m trying! Do you know what ‘gay panic’ is, Ana?”

“Uh… I’m guessing it’s the state that you are in. Perpetually.”

“Yeah. That’s what the internet says, anyway,” said Crowley, driving slowly past where he knew Aziraphale was going to be. 

He leaned across Anathema to look through the window, where he saw Aziraphale escort Professor Tracy to her car. He gave her a polite kiss on the hand and looked around to see Crowley waiting. Crowley waved to him in a two-fingered salute with a stupid smile on his face.

Anathema clambered into the back of the car so that Aziraphale could sit next to Crowley. Aziraphale leaned over the gearstick to kiss Crowley on the lips. But he lingered there too long and almost initiated a make-out session right there, in the front seat. Anathema coughed before their tongues could go down each other’s throats.

“Sorry, Ana. Want to have dinner with us?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t snog over the pudding.”

“What, us? No…” Aziraphale grinned at Crowley, who pouted his lips back at him. Aziraphale shook his head then glared at Anathema. “Put your seatbelt on, dear.” Anathema looked him in the face and stuck her chin out. Then clicked the seatbelt in. 

“So, Aziraphale, think we’ve sent them over the edge?”

“I think we’ve given roses to and escorted almost all of our female friends.”

“That should have confused them, right?”

“I’m sure it has already,” Anathema interrupted.

“Who’s going to bet they’ll ambush us in our office on Monday?”

“I’ll put in a fiver,” Anathema waved a five pound note. “Crowley?”

“I’ll put in what I have in my pocket. Angel, do you mind?”

“I’m not sticking my hand in your jacket pocket. God knows what’s in there.”

“Food? Money? Keys? Condoms?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t keep rubbers willy-nilly in my pocket.”

“You don’t keep rubbers anyway, you wily serpent, you.”

Anathema gasped. “That’s dangerous, you know that, right?!”

“No! Aziraphale, don’t say it like that! I’m so sorry, Ana. He means that we don’t… you know. We don’t want… need! To have… to do… that.”

“Liar.”

“Anathema, dear, he’s not lying. We haven’t consummated our marriage yet. It’s unlikely we ever will.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t need to,” said Crowley, squeezing the steering wheel. “I do trust my angel; but it’s not really my thing. I don’t want to. Not yet, at least.”

“Oh… you’re... Yeah, I get it.”

“Good, not many people do. It’s probably because this one can’t keep his hands off me.” Crowley jerked his head towards Aziraphale, who huffed but didn’t say anything. He knew Crowley was right.

“Look,” said Aziraphale after a while, “I respect Anthony. I don’t ever want him to feel uncomfortable or force him into anything.” Crowley looked at him, gratefully.

“Goals,” said Anathema. “I’ll shut up about it now.”

“That’s a first.” 

Anathema scoffed but didn’t argue. Crowley parked and Aziraphale led everyone back into their home and took the dinner out of the fridge and heated it up. Crowley set the table. Anathema produced wine.

“Tracy not joining us?”

“No, her husband needs her for something. Dunno what for, though,” Crowley shrugged, shaving parmesan onto his spaghetti. He held up the bowl. “Don’t be upsetti, have some spaghetti.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I will be upsetti if you don’t shush, Anthony, darling.”

“Yeah, Crowley. Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay, well, you won’t get this spaghetti,” Crowley lifted the bowls away, “I’ll eat it all on my own.”

“Anthony.” Aziraphale looked at him. 

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, angel.”

“Like what? Like this?” Aziraphale widened his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip. Crowley glared, whispering ‘stop it’ over and over. Anathema sat back and observed.

“Okay, fine. Spaghetti.” Crowley coughed and put the bowls down. He stared at Aziraphale intently while Anathema made a mess digging into her pasta. Crowley decided to finally tuck in and feed himself.

Soon after they’d finished, Anathema stole a doughnut and left with a chirpy ‘goodbye’. Aziraphale slid his arms around Crowley’s waist and pressed his chin into Crowley’s shoulder. 

“That hurts, angel,” Crowley muttered. “Come on, love.”

“I think you owe me a kiss.”

“From when?”

“From in the car, when Anathema was there.”

Crowley turned around in Aziraphale’s arms. “Oh, Aziraphale. I know you can chat me up so much better than that.”

“Can I? Really?”

Crowley thought about it. “Nah. Anything you say to me at this point makes me want to pin you against the wall and kiss you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”

“_ You _can do it so much better than me.”

“At least I’m honest.” 

“Oh, be quiet, you serpent.”

“Make me.”

Aziraphale kissed him. Aziraphale kissed him longer, more passionately than he ever had before then, even at the wedding. Crowley was pushed against the wall, pulled down so that Aziraphale could access his lips better. 

Crowley slipped and fell to the floor. Aziraphale was already straddling his hips and kissing him more. Crowley felt his stomach throb and he felt Aziraphale’s hands pushing themselves under his shirt. Crowley stopped breathing.

Then Aziraphale stopped.

“Angel?”

“Are you alright?”

“What?” His words were slightly slurred from exhilaration.

“I said, are you alright? Can I continue?”

Crowley lay on the floor of the kitchen for a minute, thinking. The tiled floor cooled him down. He nodded. “Continue, angel.” He touched Aziraphale’s face.

“Are you sure?”

“Look, I’ve been thinking about what I… we said in the car,” he said, thinking of Anathema’s face when she realised they hadn’t done it yet. “‘I respect Anthony’. That whole monologue. I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did.”

Aziraphale paused and pursed his lips. “You’re not feeling pressured into doing this because of Anathema?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with this, love.”

“Aziraphale. I want you to make love to me. Tonight.”

Aziraphale gaped at him for a second. “I…” He composed himself. “I didn’t realise you’d be this forward when we got to this part.”

Crowley laughed. “It’s both our first time.”

“I know that.” Aziraphale hesitated. “You’re completely sure?”

“For fuck’s sake, angel. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.” Aziraphale got up off of Crowley and helped his husband up, leading him by the hand to his bedroom.

“Let me ask you… one more time. Is it alright… what I mean to say is, do you want to?”

“Yes. I trust you.”

Aziraphale nodded then kissed Crowley again. He gently undressed Crowley, then undressed himself. And they made love for the first time in their lives. They held tightly onto each other, almost as if they were afraid that the other would disappear from his arms. 

Crowley fell asleep in Aziraphale’s arms after they finished and showered. Aziraphale was awake for only a few minutes longer than Crowley and passed out at around ten thirty. They were both satisfied and happy.

\+ + +

Crowley and Aziraphale sat in Crowley’s office, chatting casually and sipping their respective hot cocoas and coffees. There was a knock on the door. They looked at each other, knowing exactly who it was.

“Come on in, kids.”

There was an entire convention of students from both professors’ classes. They all goggled at the two men sitting innocently in their seats with their books and papers and hot beverages.

“It’s driving us insane!” said one student.

“Please, doc, tell us who you’re married to!”

“Doc, you’re best friends with prof, who are you two married to?”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other. Then back at the eagerly awaiting students. Aziraphale began to laugh.

“Kids, you’re all so dense.”

There was a collective groan. “Tell us!”

Crowley held up his left hand. Aziraphale held up his left hand, revealing their matching rings. The students stared. One of the girls near the back gasped.

“No fucking way, doc.”

“Yes fucking way, Keira.”

“Dr Fell and Dr Crowley?”

“What?”

Chaos ensued. 

“Holy fucking shit.”

A girl was crouching on the floor, her head in her hands. “How could we have missed it? You guys have matching rings!”

Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing for a while. A couple of girls rushed forward and congratulated them, apologising for being so weird.

Then came the onslaught of cheering and ‘hip hip hooray for the gays’. Congratulations prof. Congratulations doc. Then the inevitable teasing. Of course they’d tease their professors. Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t even argue.

\+ + +

Some things aren’t really meant to be explained.

Some things can’t be explained.

Some things can’t be expressed in words.

Some things are ineffable.

Like their love.

\+ + +

I do love words.

Words that no one uses are my favourite.

_ Susurrus _.

_ Aubade. _

Maybe even _ defenestration. _

What’s a phrase with an unused word that’d describe Aziraphale and Crowley? (No one asked, Robin.)

_ Mutual redamancy. _

_ Redamancy _is my favourite word in all of existence.

The most romantic word I’ve ever heard, second only to _ aubade. _

No one uses it, but maybe they should.

Use it with your lover, your partner, your significant other. 

Your husband, your wife.

They deserve _ redamancy _.

Everyone does.

\+ + +

_ Noun. _

** _redamancy_ ** _ (plural redamancies) (rare) _

_ The act of loving in return. _

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes™. This took me about three weeks to write. Something like that. Hours upon hours of listening to my Queen and Good Omens playlists on Spotify, going through Grammarly and trying to get everything absolutely perfect. 
> 
> I care about my writing, you know? 
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, please. I need some feedback so I know what to do and what NOT to do, because I'm writing an actual, proper novel! I need all the help I can get. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this and bearing with me. If you couldn't tell, I finished this fic very quickly. If it seems a bit rushed, that's because it is. Thank you.


End file.
